


My Love Is Like To Ice, And I To Fire

by amberfox17



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Intersexuality, Jotun!Loki, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Other, angst that becomes fluff, monogendered frost giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers, Thor brings Loki to face Odin's decree: he is stripped of his magic and confined to the palace but his true punishment is to be disowned and forced into his jotun form. Thor begins the slow process of trying to repair his relationship with Loki, and along the way discovers five new things about the jotun and one about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love Is Like To Ice, And I To Fire

**I: Jötunn Taxonomy**

This is not what Thor expected. Of course he had expected punishment: he had brought Loki back muzzled and chained, as a prisoner of war rather than his fallen brother, but in his mind had been some sort of reconciliation and penance, perhaps a banishment like his own, or a period of confinement while their father worked to heal the madness in Loki’s mind. But instead Odin sits before them on his great throne, face impassive, voice heavy and slow as he pronounces his decree.

“Loki Laufeyson,” he intones, and Thor feels fear grip his heart as he realises how badly he has misunderstood his father’s intentions. “You have made war on your family, brought destruction to two realms and chosen to ally yourself with ancient enemies of Asgard. You are cast out, Loki Laufeyson, from the line of Odin and from the royal succession; for your crimes you are stripped of your name and title and revealed for what you are: a traitor, a liar and a jötunn. You are too dangerous to go free and so I bind you to the palace, bind your magics and your form, until such time as you have proved yourself worthy of our trust – and our love.”

Loki listens in silence, expression scornful, until Odin brings down Gungnir with a mighty clang, the sound ringing through the golden hall and beyond. And as the sounds reverberates around them he begins to laugh, a high, broken sound, for a shadow is creeping over his skin, a deep, midnight blue flowing over his hands and face and Thor stares in horror as it consumes him, as a red-eyed creature laughs and laughs, tearing at his clothes to reveal more and more blue skin, covered in whorls and swirling lines.

Thor had known, of course, that Loki was not his brother in blood, that he was instead a Frost Giant foundling, his face and form an enchantment laid on him by Odin that he might pass as  a second son; his mother had explained it all to him after Loki’s fall and he had accepted it as truth. But he had not _known_ , had not seen his brother in this shape, and he struggles to understand what he is seeing. For Loki, now wordlessly screaming his defiance and hate at Odin’s blank face, does _not_ look like the Frost Giants Thor had carelessly slain on that fateful incursion into Jotunheim. He is blue-skinned, yes, and red-eyed, but he is no taller, no broader, and he still has his dark hair and sharp features. He looks…himself, mostly, only furious and snarling as the implacable Einherjar drag him away.

This is wrong, Thor thinks, this is _wrong_ , and yet he does not know what would be right.

He does what he has always done when he feels lost or alone: he goes to see his mother. Frigga has sequestered herself away in her own great hall; she will not speak against Odin but her silence and absence make clear what she thinks of his decisions. She is sitting by her loom when Thor enters, but her hands are still. She has been crying, Thor realises with a hollow ache in his chest.

“Mother,” he says and she rises, pulling him into a fierce hug. They stand like that for a few moments and then she pulls back, a tenuous smile on her face as she motions for him to sit.

“How did he look?” she asks at last, and of course she can only mean one person.

“Angry,” Thor replies carefully, for he does not know quite what to say. Frigga nods, mouth twisting.

“Where have they taken him?” she asks and Thor realises with a start he is not sure.

“I think…I think to Ymir’s Tower,” he says slowly, for Odin had spoken only of his being confined to the palace and yet the Einherjar had forcibly removed him from the hall. The only space within the palace rooms that might serve as a prison is the high tower; it had long been a favourite refuge of Loki’s and yet still had the thickly warded door at the base that could be used to keep a Frost Giant contained. The tower is built on a grand scale, to accommodate a guest – or prisoner – twice the height of an Asgardian, and that reminds him of the strangeness of Loki’s jötunn form.

“Mother,” he begins hesitantly, for he does not want to hurt her further, but curiosity burns inside him and there is no-one else he would speak of Loki to. “When father…changed Loki, he seemed…different to the Frost Giants I have seen.” And killed, he thinks silently. “He is small, and still looks himself, only…blue.”

“Well, yes,” Frigga replies. “He is not a _hrimthursar_ , as Laufey was; I suppose he must take after his sire. Have you never seen an _íviðjur_ before?”

“…no?” Thor ventures, perplexed by these strange words. Frost Giants are Frost Giants: big, blue, brutish and hard to kill.

Frigga sighs. “I forget, sometimes, that the young do not remember the ways before the war. Jotunheim was not always cut off from the other realms, and I remember when an _íviðjur_ was thought to be the most beautiful paramour one could have. The Aesir, the Vanir, even the dwarves of Niðavellir – all ventured to the snowy wastes to try and woo a jötunn mate.”

“I don’t understand,” Thor says, even more confused. “Is Loki not a Frost Giant?”

“Did you think that all the jötunn were the same?” Frigga asks gently. “You have met their greatest warriors, the _hrimthursar_ , whom we call Frost Giants. But among their people is another kind, the _íviðjur_ , known as sorcerers and skalds, skilled in magic and song. They are greatly prized as both beauties and as powerful allies. This is what Loki is, and had he survived the Ritual of Exposure he would have been much valued in Laufey’s court, for there have been few _íviðjur_ born on Jotunheim since the Casket was taken.”

“Oh,” Thor says, since he cannot think of anything more eloquent. He has never thought anything about the Frost – about the jötunn, beyond how best to slay them. That there might be more to their people or their culture than hulking warriors and collapsing ruins is not something he has ever considered. Frigga sighs again, even more heavily.

“They are not monsters,” she says sadly, reaching out to take Thor’s hand. “They are people, Thor, a proud and hard people, living in a cold and harsh world. They are only – different. Very different to us in some ways and yet not in others. Loki is still your brother, Thor, and he is not a monster, no matter what he thinks. I raised the both of you and have cared for you all the days of your lives. I love you both and always will.”

“You do not agree with what Father has done?” Thor asks, head swimming.

“Your father looks to what has been and sees a criminal he must punish. I look to what might be and see a man who might be healed, who might be brought back into the fold. I cannot excuse what he has done, Thor, but the Allfather will ensure he suffers for it. I want to ensure that his suffering at least has a purpose, that he might have a future outside of this golden cage. He is my son, just as you are, and I would seem him happy again. I would see you both happy.”

“You have forgiven him, then?” Thor says sharply, temper flaring. He is not sure how to feel about the Allfather’s punishment, but he is certain that he is the wounded party here, not Loki.

“He is my son and I am his mother,” Frigga says, her voice low. “Of course I have forgiven him.”

“He tried to kill me!” Thor bellows, outraged, and Frigga bows her head.

“Yes,” she says, voice heavy with grief. “My sons have turned to murder and violence, and now one is a prisoner and both are consumed by hate. I would understand why, that I might make sure it never happens again.”

She begins to weep openly, and Thor’s anger swiftly melts away to shame and regret.

“I do not hate him,” Thor says, deeply upset at the sight of his mother’s pain. “I love him, mother, more than anyone, truly. I would have him love me again.”

“Then you must listen to him, Thor,” Frigga says, lifting her tear-streaked face. “I do not ask you to agree with him, nor that you accept his words as truth, but if you wish for his love you must first have his trust again. Hear his anger and his pain, and try to understand that for him, it is as real and true as yours.”

Thor would do anything to stop his mother’s tears and he nods agreement; Frigga wraps her arms around him and he lets her hold him, wishing he knew what to do as her body shakes with emotion. He cannot simply forgive and forget what Loki has done, but he trusts that his mother speaks the truth: what matters now is what he wants for the future and what he wants more than anything is for Loki to once again be his friend, his brother, his closest companion.

What Loki wants, he cannot begin to guess.

**II: Jötunn Communication**

It is with a heavy heart that Thor ascends the worn steps of Ymir’s Tower. He is dreading the imminent confrontation but it must be done, for the longer he stays away, the harder it will be to face Loki. The tower is a pleasant prison, at least: light and airy, with large windows and high ceilings, designed to accommodate guests up to twelve or so feet tall. The furniture in the top room is all new though, and sized for Asgardians; Thor senses his mother’s hand in it, for it is of beautiful construction and makes the room seem an elegant retreat rather than a place of confinement. There are couches, books, some of Loki’s favourite trinkets and a large wardrobe. Loki is wearing a soft green tunic, lovingly embroidered, and his old black leggings, the ones he always favoured when studying, comfortable and much-darned.

Loki prowls the room as if it were a dungeon cell.

He looks – well, Thor thinks, for once he looks past the startling colour of his skin and eyes he can see that Loki is not as gaunt as he was on Midgard and his cuts and bruises all seem to have healed. He is clearly still foul-tempered but does not seem as frantic as he was when they struggled for the Tesseract, and Thor hopes that this is a good sign, that it means he will be able to talk properly with his brother, as he has not had chance to do since…well, since before they went to Jotunheim and became embroiled in this madness.

“Loki,” he starts, trying to sound cheerful. “It is good to see you.”

“Is it?” Loki snaps, fixing his unsettlingly red eyes on Thor. “I cannot say the same.”

“I am sorry for…this,” Thor says awkwardly, waving his hand to indicate the tower, Loki’s shape, everything that has happened since his failed coronation.

“Are you?” Loki sneers and Thor clenches his fists in frustration. He hates it when Loki is in this mood, sniping and picking and answering every statement with a question: it means Loki is spoiling for an argument and Thor has always been willing to oblige him. But that is not why he is here, so he keeps his peace.

“I would like to talk, Loki,” he says instead of the hot words that instinctively rise up. “I want to understand how all of this came to be.”

“How all of this came to be?” Loki repeats in a sing-song voice and claps his hands. “Well, once upon a time a Frost Giant called Laufey fucked a Frost Giant whose name I do not even know, and so I was born, but evidently my size was displeasing to my esteemed father and so he abandoned me. Luckily for me, _your_ father decided to pick me up alongside the Casket of Ancient Winters and kept me displayed in the Royal Palace, so that his own son might be able to start early in grinding down the foul jötunn. Sadly, however -”

“Enough,” Thor growls, for he will not listen to this perversion of their history. “You know well what I am asking, Loki. Why did you lie to me on Midgard? Why send the Destroyer after me, and then try to strike me down yourself? Why did you choose to fall into the Void when Father and I would have saved you? Why this madness with the Tesseract and the Chitauri?” He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice calm and not accusatory. “Why do you insist that you are no longer my brother? Why -”

“I am not your brother, Thor,” Loki interrupts with a snarl. He gestures angrily at his face, at his blue skin and red eyes. “Is it not obvious to you at last?”

“You will always be my brother,” Thor replies as steadily as he can, “for I love you and nothing you do can change that.”

“Get out,” Loki hisses, his face twisting with rage. “Get out, Thor, get OUT, GET OUT!” he screams, louder and louder, drowning out Thor’s pleas. He screams until his voice breaks, but Thor refuses to move: he will outlast this rage, endure this storm and surely that will make Loki see the depth of his love, that no matter what he does he cannot chase Thor away. Loki is sobbing in rage, slamming his fists against the wall, chest heaving as he struggles to draw breath and then he suddenly tips his head back and _wails_.

It is a horrifying sound, starting at an obscenely high note and then sliding down until Thor cannot actually hear it but can feel it throbbing through his chest and resonating through the stones of the tower. It is a noise Thor did not think any living creature could make and yet Loki does, the terrible sound rising and falling in counterpoint to Loki’s breathing until Thor’s head is ringing and his vision is blurring.

It must be a cry of the jötunn, he thinks wildly, to carry over the wind and through the ice and he slumps to the ground, his hands over his ears, begging Loki to stop even though he can hear nothing but the wail.

Eventually it stops and he looks up to see Loki on his hands and knees, panting furiously.

“Will you not grant me even the smallest favour?” Loki whispers, voice rough and hoarse. “Will you force me to your will even now?”

Thor had not thought of this, that to stay might be a violation of Loki’s will, an act of deliberate disrespect. He aches to touch him, for he has always found more comfort in touch than words, and in action than speech. But he has trespassed against Loki too much already this day.

“I am sorry,” Thor says, his voice seeming loud in the sudden quiet. “I meant only to show you that no matter what you say, I will always care for you.”

“And if your care is the last thing I want?” Loki spits, but his voice is feeble and the threat thin.

“Then I am sorry you are burdened with it,” Thor replies. “But I will try to do better, brother, that you might value it as I value yours.”

Loki makes no reply and so Thor leaves, unsure if his actions have helped or harmed. But he returns the next day, and the day after that, staying only until Loki asks – or screams, or demands, as it so happens – that he leave. It takes time, oh, so much time, at a glacially slow rate of progress, but eventually Loki’s fury wears itself out and they can finally begin to talk.

It is hard for Thor, to hear his brother describe his most cherished memories as exercises in frustration and failure, but he remains mindful of Frigga’s advice and resists the impulse to correct Loki, to insist that no-one meant their words the way Loki remembers them, that no-one ever thought as badly of Loki as he thinks they did, that he, at least, was always genuinely happy in his brother’s company, even when their pranks went awry.

Loki will spare him only a little time, which is spent mostly berating Thor for his ignorance, but Frigga tells him that she and Loki spent hours together, talking and weaving, and Thor places his trust in his mother and her unwavering love. His own efforts seem to have little effect on Loki’s hate but as the months pass he can see the jagged edges in Loki softening and the flood of bitterness seems to ease a little. His mother’s wisdom is great indeed, and by the time the summer fades to a glorious autumn Loki seems more his old self again, although still quick with an insult and easily provoked to wrath by a careless word of Thor’s.

Thor continues his visits, although Loki refuses to see Sif or the Warriors Three – who, in truth, have no great desire to see Loki, although they all profess to understand why Thor chooses to do so. Loki’s jötunn form no longer seems strange to him, and he begins to learn the new sounds Loki is capable of, for after that first dramatic wail Loki has begun to experiment with his new voice. Sorcerers and singers, their mother had said, and Thor is thrilled one morning to hear a flood of pure, wordless notes floating from the Tower, punctuated by deep bass grunts as Loki tests his range.

His brother has always been Loki Silvertongue but now his voice soars, dropping to make the very walls of the tower shake and rising to pierce the heavens. It is not like any singing Thor has heard in Asgard, for Loki does not use words, but the liquid sound is clearly a song, patterns repeating and blending in a rich cacophony of sound. It reminds Thor of the song of the great whales in the northern seas, but far more complex.

He catches their father listening sometimes, head cocked as the sobbing notes rise and fall, but Odin never speaks of it. He and Thor do not speak of Loki at all to each other, and Odin is one of many topics Loki refuses to speak on, so Thor has no idea if Odin has gone to see Loki since the binding, if Loki has asked for him or refused him if he went. But he sees, sometimes, two dark shapes circling the highest window of the tower, and he hears the sorrow and the hope in Loki’s singing, and his heart lifts with hope.

**III: Jötunn Diet**

“I have brought you a treat,” Thor announces as he enters, holding the platter of sugar-dusted fruit out in front of him. Loki looks up sharply before pretending to go back to reading his book. His apparent indifference does not faze Thor: Loki was always fond of sugary treats and while he could not manage to steal one of the pies cooling in the kitchens the exasperated cook was more than happy to give him the fruit just to get him out of her way. He puts the tray down on Loki’s small side table and then wanders over to the window, deliberately turning his back as he counts off the beats in his head. _Twenty-nine, thirty_ …Sure enough, when he risks a glance over his shoulder, half the tray is already gone.

Abandoning his pretence, he pulls over the spare chair and leans forward eagerly. “Good?” he asks, keen to know that he has done this one small thing right.

“It tastes…different,” Loki says, frowning and Thor’s heart sinks. “But the thought is not unwelcome,” he adds and that is enough for Thor to smile at, that Loki is now willing to offer him this taste of politeness.

He settles more comfortably into the chair and begins to tell Loki of the latest news in the realm, of the _draugr_ rumoured to haunt the eastern forest, of Fandral’s latest failed attempt to woo the Lady Skadi, of the talk of the dwarves’ latest enchanting techniques. Loki seems to like to hear the business of Asgard and so Thor collects it diligently, collecting as many scraps of interest as he can to present to Loki in exchange for his time. But as he speaks Loki grits his teeth and looks paler and paler until he abruptly stands and rushes to his small bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Thor paces, fretting, as the unmistakable sounds of someone being violently sick reach him: had the cook given him spoiled fruit? Was this some plot against Loki, for some still speak of him with anger, naming him traitor and false prince?

When Loki emerges, trembling slightly, Thor cannot help but pull him into a hug, heedless of the chill of his skin and the stiffness in his frame.

“Are you well now?” he asks anxiously. “I swear I did not know the fruit was tainted -”

“It was not tainted,” Loki says tiredly, refusing to look at Thor but not shrugging away his arm. “It smelt wrong, and I knew the moment I put it in my mouth, but I thought perhaps after so many years as living as an Aesir I would be able to eat it.”

“I don’t understand,” Thor says; it is something he says often, these days. Loki sighs and looks him in the eye.

“Did you never wonder what the jötnar eat,Thor? Jotunheim is a world of ice and snow. No crops grow, no fruit ripens. There is only the _drífa_ _blōmi_ , which may feed the ice-beasts, but is not enough for a Frost Giant. The jötnar are carnivores, Thor, pure predators, and they live solely on the flesh and blood and bone of their great herds and the beasts of the sea.”

Thor stares at Loki, who is clearly much better informed about the world of the jötnar than Thor had initially thought. He tries to imagine it: a world without green, without fruit or vegetables or grain, just the tiny blooms of the snow-algae, a feast for small creatures which in turn feed the great _hjörth_ and their hunters. Thor is fond of meat, of boar and venison and great ribs of beef, but to live only on game seems a bleak diet indeed. And for Loki, who loved sweets and pastries above all else, it is yet another cruelty.

“I am sorry,” Thor says, his voice low, and he means it not just for the ill-advised gift of fruit, but for what Odin has done to him, and for his own impotence and his ignorance. Loki shrugs, as if to say that dwelling on it will not change matters, and they move on to a game of _tafl_ which Thor of course loses, but the thought of yet another loss for Loki rankles and festers with Thor for the rest of the day.

It is not until after his own dinner, which was haunted by the memory of Loki’s sickness, that Thor has an idea. He is sitting with his chin propped on his hands, thinking on Loki, when one of the palace’s many dogs comes up to him and whines hopefully. Thor idly passes the hound a large mutton-bone, which the dog falls on with wild abandon, gnawing and crunching happily at the bone and bits of meat. That is it, Thor thinks, suddenly thrilled: if Loki’s jötunn form has jötunn tastes, then he should bring his brother the same treats and titbits he would give to a dog or a cat. He scavenges the dinner table and makes a pile of juicy bones, succulent cuts of meat and, just in case, a whole pig’s ear. The dog looks up, tail thumping the floor, and for a moment Thor feels guilty, but someone else tosses a bone and the hound moves away. As he leaves, he passes the cheese platter and decides, on a whim, to take it; the jötnar have herds, after all, so perhaps they enjoy dairy products alongside their meat.

Loki raises an eyebrow when Thor enters and presents him with the leftovers.

“I am fed quite adequately,” he points out, but his mouth is open slightly and his lip is curled in that strange grimace that means he is tasting the smells on the air.

“I thought we could see what your new favourites might be,” Thor says, pushing the pile of food towards Loki. “The mutton was particularly good tonight.”

Loki picks up the mutton-bone and sniffs at it, in a manner not wholly unlike the dog earlier, although Thor refrains from pointing this out. His tongue flickers out and he tastes it; it must be very good, for he bares his teeth and immediately bites down on it, the bone making a terrific crack as it splinters in his mouth. Thor watches, fascinated, as Loki crunches up the entire thing and swallows bone and marrow with every sign of enjoyment. If Thor tried such a thing he would break his teeth and likely worse, but Loki tears his way through the food, lapping at the bones with his rough tongue, greedily sucking at the marrow and popping the pig’s ear into his mouth whole with the same blissful expression as he used to wear when eating strawberry tarts. He is more cautious with the cheeses but those too seem to be acceptable and he licks his fingers clean with no sign of sickness.

They sit in companionable silence until Loki yawns and startles Thor from his half-doze. He hastily gathers the plates and wishes Loki a good night; Loki does not usually tolerate his company for this long and he does not wish to outstay his welcome.

“Thank you,” Loki says quietly, as he leaves, and Thor smiles, for it is the first time Loki has said so since all this began.

**IV: Jötunn Physiology**

Winter arrives in a flurry of ice and bitter winds. Thick snow begins to fall, covering the palace grounds and roofs as icicles creep from the overhangs, until the whole of Asgard seems frozen solid. Thor begins to wear a thick, fur-lined cloak when he goes to visit Loki, for his brother has no fire in his room and keeps the windows always open to the elements. Of course Loki no longer feels the cold as Thor does, and he still wears only the lightest of tunics and leggings, bare feet slapping against the icy floor of his rooms as he paces. Since the weather turned so cold Loki has become restless, losing whatever little peace he had found, although he seems more irritable than truly angry, snapping at Thor for perceived infractions but then leaning into him, in what might almost count as an embrace.

Thor is pleased with his brother’s new-found affection for him, and bears up willingly under the accompanying irritability. It is the coldest evening it has yet been and Loki is particularly troubled, unable to focus on the _tafl_ -board, shouting at Thor’s feeble attempts at conversation and picking morosely at the thigh-bones Thor has brought for him. He rubs at his skin, constantly, as if there is an itch he cannot reach, and when he stops in his endless circling of the room and rests his weight against Thor, he can feel the thudding of his too-rapid heart and feel a strange warmth rising from Loki’s skin.

“Will you spar with me?” Loki asks abruptly, tugging at a loose thread in the hem of Thor’s cloak.

“Now?” Thor replies doubtfully. He is beginning to worry that Loki might be seriously ill, as his eyes seem feverishly bright.

“I need to do…something,” Loki says, yanking hard on the errant thread, which is already unravelling at an alarming rate.

“If you are sure,” Thor says, stilling Loki’s hand. Perhaps if he wears him out Loki will be able to rest, and that will be sure to do him some good.

“I am sure,” Loki grins, squeezing Thor’s hand tightly before jumping up to push the furniture out of the way. When he has made a large enough space he stands in the middle of it, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Thor enters the makeshift circle with his eyes fixed on Loki. He does not have his armour on, favouring thick wool and layers to keep him warm in Loki’s freezing chambers. Normally it would be a fairly even match, for although Thor is far stronger than Loki in hand to hand combat, Loki is wily and moves fast, using his agility and quick reflexes to dance out of Thor’s reach. But today, there is obviously something wrong with Loki and so Thor approaches him slowly, hands spread wide.

Something is _definitely_ wrong: Loki launches himself at Thor, closing immediately and slamming his body into Thor’s. Thor absorbs the impact easily but allows Loki to drag him to the floor, as there will be less chance of injury if he can pin Loki down. They wrestle roughly, Loki locking his legs around Thor, trying to hold him down with brute force. It is a foolish tactic, and one that Loki has not tried since they were tiny boys and more equal in size, but Loki’s teeth are bared and he is making a deep rumbling noise as he exerts himself, so Thor resists only enough to keep Loki straining. He will tire soon, surely, and then Thor can put him to bed and call his mother or a healer.

Loki is panting furiously, his head pressed into the crook of Thor’s neck as he pushes his weight against him and Thor becomes aware of a strange scent emanating from his brother. It is cloying and somewhat musty and seems to be coming from his skin, almost as if it were sweat, although Loki’s jötunn skin remains dry. He has never noticed such a smell before; it must be symptom of the sickness. Time to end this, he thinks, and unleashes his full strength, grabbing Loki’s wrists and rolling them over in one smooth movement, pinning his squirming brother to the floor.

Loki looks sick indeed, his face flushed and eyes bright. The smell is becoming stronger and Thor shakes his head reflexively, for he is now feeling a little dizzy himself: can he catch a fever from a jötunn? Loki pants beneath him and Thor knows he should let him up, but his body feels heavy and it feels natural to stay where he is, to let his weight rest on Loki, to press his face to Loki’s neck and inhale the overpowering scent rising from him.

Before he can think about what he is doing, his tongue flickers out and tastes Loki’s skin, to see if he can find the source of the delicious smell. Loki whimpers and his hips buck up and even through his thick winter clothes Thor can feel his hardness and he responds by rolling his own hips. Loki clutches at him and he does it again, but it’s not enough, not with all fabric in the way and he pushes himself up, hands fumbling at the laces of his trousers –

\- and as soon as pulls away into the icy fresh air his head clears and he realises what he has just done. Loki is quivering beneath him, eyes dark with lust, his erection straining at his thin leggings.

Thor scrambles away, putting as much distance as he can between himself and Loki, who whines his displeasure at the loss of contact. Oh, this is wrong, there is so clearly something wrong here, and Thor tries to ignore his own aching cock, the rush of lust he feels as Loki rolls onto his knees and starts making that low rumbling sound again, his eyes fixed on Thor as he crawls towards him. As he comes closer Thor can smell that musty sweetness again and it makes his mouth dry and his cock leap and he has to get out of here before he does something unforgivable, for Loki is beyond speech and cannot know what he is doing.

Thor bolts, fleeing the tower as fast as he can, Loki’s wail of disappointment thrumming through the walls as he races for his mother’s hall. Thankfully she is alone and she leaps to her feet at the sight of Thor dishevelled and distraught.

“What is it?” she demands, checking him over even as she speaks, and Thor is suddenly horribly aware that he is still half-hard even after the dash across an icy courtyard.

“Loki,” he manages, stepping away from Frigga as discretely as he can. “There’s something wrong – he – I -” He swallows, hard; how is he to describe Loki’s behaviour to his mother? “He is sick,” he says desperately, “he is acting – strangely – and he burns with fever and – and there is a strange smell about him.”

Frigga stills in her fussing and fixes him with a sharp look. “He is restless? Will not eat, cannot settle, seems over keen to touch but quick to snap when spoken to?”

“Yes,” Thor says with great relief.

“Ah,” Frigga says, moving away from Thor and back towards the fire, so he cannot see her face. “And he has – touched you today? Held fast to you, and asked for your embrace?”

“Yes,” Thor says, face flaming, for it was not exactly an embrace and Loki had not exactly asked.

“Oh, my poor boys,” Frigga says softly, although she sounds more amused than worried. “Do not worry, Thor,” she says, turning to smile at him. “Loki is only in heat. It will pass in a day or two.”

“In heat?” Thor repeats dumbly and Frigga nods, her face serene.

“It is because of the weather, I expect. The jötnar come into heat at the start of the winter, that they may carry the child through the lean months and birth it in the spring. Since Loki is well-fed and healthy, and is living in freezing chambers, the cold has finally triggered his reproductive cycle.”

“Reproductive cycle?” Thor says after a long moment; this is possibly the worst conversation he has ever had with his mother, and that includes the business with the two serving girls, the double cream and the ladle.

“He can now carry a child,” Frigga says, smiling, as if this is a statement that makes perfect sense.

“ _How_?” Thor asks, for he is all too aware that Loki is definitely, absolutely in possession of a working prick.

“He is jötunn,” Frigga says, and when Thor just stares at her blankly she sighs. She seems to do that often around him, one way or another. “Thor, my dearest, did you read that book I gave you? About jötnar culture and history?”

No, of course not, Thor thinks, for by that point Loki was talking to him, and he was more interested in his brother than the ways of his birth-people.

“The jötnar do not have male and female, as we do,” Frigga says. “They are both in themselves, and so each is capable of siring and carrying a child. When the heat comes, they will struggle for dominance until one can master the other, and then the stronger jötunn will take the female role, as it were, taking the seed of the other to conceive. The weaker must wait until the stronger’s strength is spent, and then do what they can to coax more from them, that they might too get a child from the coupling.”

Thor makes a strangled noise. So by pinning Loki to the floor he had been signifying his desire to be…penetrated? And how, exactly, was one both male and female? He cannot help but try to picture it: both cock and cunt together, both swollen and wet. Would Loki be the same azure blue between his legs, or would he be a rich purple, as jötnar blood was as red as an Asgardians?

“Poor Loki,” Frigga is saying, frowning. “He must have realised what was happening, but thought he could control his instincts. It was always said that the first few heats were the hardest to bear.”

“What can we do to help him?” Thor manages, trying to focus on what he should do, not what he did, or almost did, or cannot seem to stop thinking of doing.

Frigga sighs again and pats him on the shoulder. “There is only one thing he needs,” she says fondly, “and he will try to take it from you if go into that room with him again. It seems he has chosen a mate, but since he is in no fit state to speak of it, it would be best, I think, to stay well clear until we hear him sing again.”

“Sing?” Thor says, trying to ignore the wicked grin on his mother’s face and the implications of her words. When will this conversation be over?

“You may have noticed his…vocalizations seemed different? Lower and less, ah, controlled?” Thor nods, not trusting his voice. “He is not quite himself at the moment, and will not be coherent enough to put together a song until the heat has passed.”

“I…see,” Thor says and begins to edge towards the door. His mother is still smiling in a most unmotherly way.

“Try not to worry, dear; it will be an intensely frustrating few days for your brother, but it will do him no harm. I will make sure that he has enough to eat, although I doubt he will do so until his craving has passed.”

“Thank you,” Thor blurts out and flees yet again, racing back to the privacy of his rooms where he huddles in his cloak, trying desperately to think of safe, normal things and not of his throbbing cock or his brother’s blatant desire as Loki’s piercing wails drift on the wind outside.

**V: Jötunn Anatomy**

Three days have passed and at last Loki’s song rises and falls from his tower. Thor hesitates before crossing the courtyard but then angrily berates himself as a coward. It was not their fault: it was an accident, an unfortunate mistake that resulted from jötnar hormones, and besides, they stopped before it got out of hand.

And if Thor has spent three days trying and failing not to think on Loki panting beneath him, desperate for his touch, his own cock hard and aching at the thought of the mystery between Loki’s legs, well, it is best not to dwell on things that cannot be. Loki is his brother and he loves him; he thinks, at long last, that Loki once again returns his love and trust and he will not see that broken because of this sudden lust.

He ascends the tower steps planning what he will say, a platter of pig’s ears in hand as his smirking mother had assured him that Loki would be absolutely starving.

He pauses before he enters, for the first time in months.

“Loki?” he calls, and waits.

“Thor?” comes the answer, and Loki sounds more exhausted than Thor has ever known. He enters gingerly, but Loki is not lying in wait for him, as he had feared in his wilder imaginings. Rather, his brother is lying on the bed, staring up at the high ceiling as Thor approaches, holding the platter out in front in him like an offering.

“I have brought you a treat,” he says, tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed. Loki has a coverlet thrown over him, but Thor is unsure if he is wearing anything underneath it, and the thought is bothering him more than it should.

 “Thank you,” Loki says woodenly, still staring upwards. The room seems warmer than usual and he glances around: the window is shut and there is a small fire burning in a portable grate. Did Loki try to burn the fever out of his blood, to convince his body it was not the season for mating? Or is this an apology, a gift for Thor? He does not want to ask and so they sit in awkward silence until Thor can bear it no longer.

“You need to eat,” he says, a little more harshly than he means to, and he picks up a pig’s ear and dangles it in Loki’s face. Either the smell or the look of it are enough to make Loki’s stomach growl and he sits up to snatch it from Thor, the coverlet sliding down his chest to pool over his lap. The lines and whorls on his face continue down over his shoulders and across his chest, intricate patterns that Thor has the sudden impulse to chase with his tongue, to see how they weave across Loki’s hips and thighs before curling around his legs and feet.

He coughs a little, and offers Loki another ear. Loki accepts it gratefully, eyes closed in bliss as he crunches it up, licking at his fingers and lips before blindly reaching for the next. Thor hands it to him and their fingers brush. Thor jerks back, but not before Loki’s eyes open and he sees the panic on Thor’s face.

“So you finally see that I really am a monster,” Loki says bitterly. “And it has been proven, once and for all, that we are _not_ brothers.”

Thor opens his mouth to apologise, to reassure him that he does not hate him, does not blame him, that he loves him and he always will and –

\- _Loki is not his brother_. He loves him, oh yes, he loves him, but they are not kin, they share no blood and in truth, are not even of the same kind. It is only love and a lifetime spent together that binds them and there are many words they could use instead to describe that.

Thor begins to laugh, for now he sees why Frigga has smiled so freely and with such joy over the last few days, despite his and Loki’s misery, and he thinks, he thinks that perhaps this is what was in Odin’s mind when he so very publically stripped Loki of his false name and false identity. For they are not brothers but free men – no, he thinks, a free man and a free jötunn, and though it will be a scandal there is nothing in Asgardian or Jötnar law that can stop them.

“You are not a monster,” he says, before Loki can explode with rage at being laughed at. “But you are right in saying that you are not my brother.”

Loki’s eyes fill with tears, although he has fixed an angry snarl on his face. Thor reaches out and cups Loki’s face, brushing his thumb over Loki’s cool skin.

“I would have you be my lover, instead,” he says softly and the tears run down Loki’s face in sheer shock as Thor leans forward to kiss him. Loki is still only for a moment and then he grabs at Thor, both hands fisted in his tunic, pulling him closer as Loki takes control of the kiss, turning Thor’s gentle affection into something hot and wet and full of promise. The platter and the pig’s ears crash to the floor as they surge together, Loki trying to crawl into Thor’s lap even as Thor tries to press their bodies together.

They break apart, panting and laughing. “We need to get these off,” Loki says hungrily, tugging at Thor’s tunic and Thor enthusiastically agrees, pulling his clothes off with little grace but much speed. Loki lays back on the bed, and Thor stares, taking in the expanse of azure flesh, Loki’s small, dusky nipples and his narrow hips. He can see the outline of Loki’s stirring cock beneath the scrap of fabric still covering him and his hands tremble at the thought of being to touch and taste what he had thought to be forbidden.

Loki gives him a sultry smile and Thor gives in to temptation, kissing a long looping line down Loki’s chest, pausing to nip at Loki’s nipples, which prove gratifyingly sensitive. But Thor is burning with curiosity and so he does not stop, moving lower until his breath ghosts over the damp patch Loki’s cock has made in the coverlet. He pauses, looks up at Loki, and waits for permission.

“Yes,” Loki says, low and fierce, but his hands are clenched into fists at his side and Thor knows he must fear rejection when the truth of his body is revealed.

Thor tugs away the fabric and gently spreads Loki’s legs so he can examine him closely. Loki’s prick curves upward, similar to Thor’s in size and length but flushed a deep, rich purple at the head. But where Thor would expect to find Loki’s balls, he finds instead a wet cunt, completely hairless and again a rich purple fading to an almost lavender colour as he parts the folds. He can see no clit though, and as he gently runs his fingers along Loki’s clenched thighs in reassurance he thinks he sees why, for Loki’s cock rises from where the clit should be.

“You are beautiful,” he says honestly, looking up to catch Loki’s eye. Loki visibly relaxes and Thor skims his fingers lightly over the inviting folds, delighted when Loki’s breath catches in his throat.

“I am ready,” Loki replies drily, “if you would be so kind as to hurry up and fuck me.” But Thor has other ideas and settles between Loki’s legs so he can take Loki’s hard cock into his mouth and slide a finger gently into Loki’s cunt as he does so. Loki yelps, body bucking wildly and Thor realises that will be his first time in this new body, that he will be the first and, he thinks possessively, the only one to have Loki in this way.

Loki’s hands are tight in his hair and he is rumbling in pleasure, a deep, resonant sound that Thor can feel through his cock and the clenching of his cunt. Loki is hotter inside than he is out, and the difference between his cool cock and the wet heat of his cunt is more exciting than Thor had imagined it could be. Loki is shaking, already close just at the newness of the sensation and Thor wants it, wants so badly to give this to Loki, so he takes a deep breath and swallows Loki further, taking him as deep as he can even as he works a second and then a third finger into Loki’s welcoming flesh. Loki’s rumble begins to rise in pitch and soon become a moan, broken words spilling from his mouth as his hips twitch.

“Thor,” he says desperately, “Thor!” and then he is coming, cunt shuddering around Thor’s fingers as his come floods Thor’s mouth. It tastes different to anyone Thor has done this to before, less salty but more viscous, almost like a thick, bitter cream. It is a taste he thinks he will get used to and he sits up licking his lips. Loki is panting frantically, his face and neck flushed a deep mauve.

“I believe I told you,” he says, between pants, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth, “to hurry up and fuck me?” Thor laughs and kisses his beautiful, demanding Loki, who seems to relish tasting himself in Thor’s mouth, working his tongue between Thor’s hips to kiss him more deeply.

By the time they break apart and Thor lines himself up with Loki’s cunt, he is startled to see that Loki’s prick is half-hard again. He looks at Loki, who smiles back smugly. “There are certain advantages to being jötunn, which I have discovered at length over the past few days,” he says archly, reaching down to stroke himself to full hardness. Thor growls at the sight and grips his own cock firmly before sliding slowly into Loki’s welcoming cunt.

By the Norns, but Loki is tight, for all his warmth and wetness and Thor holds himself still for a moment, for in this, Loki is technically a virgin and he does not want to hurt him. Loki responds to this kindness by kicking Thor with his heels.

“Fuck me!” he snaps and Thor obeys, pulling slowly out and then easing back in until he feels Loki give a little and can set a faster pace, groaning at the sweetness of Loki’s wet cunt.

“Harder!” Loki demands and Thor braces himself on his hands so he can fuck him properly, thrusting as hard and as deep as he can, the wet slap of their bodies meeting barely audible over Loki’s bass rumbling and Thor’s grunts. He fucks him hard and fast and Loki loves him for it, tells him so over and over, the words spilling out between breaths and noises, Loki’s hand working frantically at his own cock until he cries out again, covering his own chest with his release. The white is vivid against Loki’s blue skin and the sight of Loki’s ecstasy along with the sudden clenching of his cunt is too much for Thor and he is coming too, his cock twitching inside of Loki as he comes in a hot rush.

They lay there, exhausted, until Thor can feel himself slipping out and he rolls off, grabbing at the discarded coverlet so he can clean them both up. He kisses Loki again and pulls him into an embrace. “Thor, I am too hot,” Loki complains, but when Thor lets him go and rolls onto his back he returns a moment later, slinging one leg over Thor’s and resting his head on Thor’s shoulder.

“The past three days would have been much more pleasant if we had done this last week,” Loki says thoughtfully, and Thor grunts his agreement, already half-asleep. “But then, we would have the matter of children to think of,” he says and that pricks Thor out of his doze.

“Would you want to have my children?” he says in wonder, for all he had thought of so far was that it was no doubt very convenient for the jötnar that they could only conceive once a year.

“In time, if I was assured of their status and their future,” Loki replies airily, as if this is not a world-shattering thought. “I would not bear a child in captivity, to be shunned as the child of a traitor and a monster.”

Thor tenses in anger at the thought, that any child of his would be treated so, at the reminder that to the court and the realm Loki is still a condemned prisoner.

“The Allfather said you must be confined until you proved worthy of love and trust,” Thor snarls, his hand tightening on Loki’s hip. “I love you, Loki, and I would trust you with my life. I will make him set you free again and when I am king we shall rule together, and our children will be princes and born to be kings.”

Loki hums lightly, tapping out a slow rhythm on Thor’s chest. “And would we rule as equals, Thor, or would I be your concubine, your jötunn broodmare?”

“No,” Thor says, horrified; does Loki not know how much he loves him? “You would be my consort, Loki, my fellow king.”

“Then I accept your proposal,” Loki murmurs, pressing a kiss to Thor’s cheek, “for I am foolish enough to love you still.”

Thor’s heart is full and overflowing as Loki’s breathing evens out into sleep, for at last this feels right, and so must be right, for Loki is his again.

**Appendix I: Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.  
**

“If you come near me, I’ll rip your heart out,” Loki snarls and Thor backs away quickly, palms up in surrender.

“I only meant -” he begins, but Loki cuts him off.

“I know exactly what you _meant_ and if you touch me again I will _kill you_ ,” he spits furiously before storming from the room. At least, he tries to storm from the room, but it is difficult to move quickly when you are heavily pregnant, and what he actually manages, Thor thinks to himself, is to _waddle_ from the room, although Thor is not suicidal enough to point this out.

He’d thought Loki in heat was irritable but this was nothing compared to Loki’s temper as he neared the end of his pregnancy. Thor had genuinely only wanted to make Loki feel better, with a back rub or a foot massage, but the moment he had laid hands on Loki his king-consort had started shouting and well, there was nothing Thor could do to please him now. Hopefully their mother would be able to calm him down, for Thor is completely out of ideas.

He sighs and leaves their suite to take a walk through the palace gardens, in the hope of some peace and quiet. When he reaches the rose garden, however, he realises he is not alone: Odin is sat on the stone bench, seemingly asleep, with Huginn and Muninn perched on his shoulders.

“Father,” Thor says and Odin opens his eye.

“Loki chased you out again?” he asks and Thor nods. “It’s always the worst at the end. It can’t be more than a day or two now.”

“You said that last week,” Thor points out, but Odin only smiles.

“It’ll be more than worth it when he’s born,” his father says and that Thor cannot disagree with. They sit in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth of Asgard’s long summer days. The winter in Jotunheim is long indeed, and only now will be spring be arriving in that harsh land, but Loki has had to suffer a pregnancy in is jötunn form through the sun and heat of Asgard’s spring and summer, and it has not improved his temper.

Pregnancy has suited Loki well, Thor thinks, although Loki might well disagree, for the child in his belly prevents him from shifting forms and hampers all but the simplest of magics. Thor thinks him beautiful though, and still finds a thrill in seeing him walk about the palace, his blue skin stark against the gold of Asgard, his golden crown carried in one hand with the other on his belly, as if he cared nothing for the throne but only for the wonder he and Thor have made.

“Are you happy, Thor?” his father asks quietly, and Thor tips his head back to feel the sun on his face. The realms are prosperous and even Midgard is at peace, and with Loki’s half-brother Helblindi on the throne they have at last a true alliance with Jotunheim. He finds he enjoys the business of kingship, more than he ever though he would, and he has the strength and wisdom of his parents behind him. His firstborn son will be born soon and he has Loki, mother to their child, his most trusted advisor, his consort and his love.

“Yes,” he says, and he means it with his whole heart.

“That’s all we ever wanted for you both,” Odin says and they sit together, father and son, until a flustered servant calls them back to the palace to face Loki’s wrath.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on old Norse: I've used the non-Marvel spellings for jötunn (singular) and jötnar (plural) to try and emphasis how foreign they seem to the Asgardians. Hrimthursar is literally 'frost giants' and íviðjur is one of the old Norse words for giantess, although rarely used. Drífablōmi is a mash-up of drifa, snowdrift, and blomi, bloom, to describe something like a ice-based equivalent to plankton or krill, since the food chain on Jotunheim has to be based on something. Hjörth means herd and I imagine them as some sort of giant ice-krill-eating caribou or elk, since we are given no clue as to what the jötnar themselves eat. Tafl is real and is the original name of the popular Viking table game. 
> 
> Everything else is based on the adaptations of arctic animals and my own perverted imaginings and obsession with jotun!Loki. Please excuse the excessively fluffy ending, but just once I wanted it work it fine for everyone, and since it's never going to happen in the movies, I'm consoling myself with sugary, sugary porn. Title and Appendix heading from a sonnet of the same name by Edmund Spenser.


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